Luck Be A Lady
by Shihaisha
Summary: Luck (lŭk) n. 1. The chance happening of good or bad events; fortune. For•tune (fôr′chən) n. 1.a. Fate; destiny. b. Good or bad luck. 2. fortunes. The turns of luck in one's lifetime. That was putting it nicely. "You shot me…" I stared down at my shoulder and the arrow protruding from it. "I was aiming for your head," was the reply. As if that was some sort of consolation.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** I know this first chapter is quite short, but they get longer trust me. Also, my update day is Monday. Its my day off and I'm shooting for consistency when it comes to updating, so here goes. I hope that you, oh reader, find this enjoyable, and if you feel inclined...hint, hint...you can leave me a review. :D

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Avengers, they're Marvels, dang it. I do claim however my meager plot and any original characters that pop up.

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**1**

I'd come to the conclusion that my life would look much better graphed out on a chart. Perhaps, I could then find a grudging appreciation for it. Everyone else seemed to, _and_ they couldn't keep themselves from the incessant need to reiterate such mundane happenings. If only they knew the truth. I blinked a couple of times, pushing back such musings, and focused on the newest fantastical accident to befall me.

I was waiting for the bus; enjoying the first sunny day after a week of rain (this was apparently too much to ask for). A tuft of green caught my eye and I happily relished in the discovery of multiple twenty-dollar bills. They were conveniently snagged between the bus-stop's shelter and the sidewalk. As I was the only one in the vicinity, I quickly bent down to retrieve said money. It was in this moment that calamity struck. Some brand of a reckless driver ran a red light and t-boned into the crossing traffic. It was a deafening crash followed by scores of squealing tires and blaring horns. The two vehicles heading straight for me.

I was supposed to be smashed into oblivion, but my luck would have nothing of the sort. The moment my fingers touched my new-found treasure, something had flown over my head barreling, instead, through the bus stop. I later learned that it had been the front-passenger tire from the hit car. I looked up to see two vehicles screeching towards me at an alarming rate. Another car, unable to stop in time, rammed into the duo breaking them apart. I watched, horror-struck, as each narrowly missed making me road kill.

I walked away from the horrendous accident. In all probability, I should be dead. Amazingly enough, though, I only sustained minor injuries from random debris. The media hailed me the "walking miracle" and I suffered through countless admissions about my luck. My face was plastered all over the evening news. Experts argued over the impossibility and everyone wanted an interview. I was not about to oblige them. The "_walking miracle"_ had miraculously disappeared.

I spent a few days with some of the local homeless; taking the opportunity to trade my clothes for some less than desirable ones, and paying a random kid to pick up some hair dye for me. In my opinion, my welcome in this city was worn and I needed to move on before I was found. There were some old acquaintances that I was…avoiding, and the present limelight had certainly popped me up on the radar.

In the end, however, all of my precautions had been for naught. I should have decked that reporter.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: Hello dearies! As promised here is my update and right on time I might add. Thank you so much for the review/story favorites/alerts! I realize that the first chapter is rather short and really doesn't explain anything, so I am happy that I have snagged some interest. I really do hope to keep that and please feel free to leave me a review, ask me a question, or simply tell me how pathetic of an attempt this is at a story. I don't mind, seriously. ;)

By the way, I have nothing against the name Stefanie, it just happens to be the name that the Baron knows her by. I hope that this meets/satisfies expectations. Enjoy! ^_^

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**2**

There was something extremely disconcerting about being on the receiving end of several firearms. Now, several were better defined as about ten guns pointed at my face with quite a few more behind. The clank of actions cycled simultaneously raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The odds were not in my favor. Still, I had escaped worse; although—at the moment—I was having difficulty calling anything to mind. Vehicular homicide was looking decidedly better than the barrel of guns I was graced with.

"Ah, Stefanie, I have missed you."

I looked from immediate threat, guns, to immediate threat, a one Ivan Mikhail Rasputin- the Baron.

"I would love to return the sentiment, but I don't really miss much these days," I returned, resisting the urge to step back as the distance was closed between us.

"Pity." I was forced to look up as a hand gruffly grabbed my chin. "Where's my money?"

As my vision was dominated by a cold, craggy, merciless demeanor, I decided two things: First, escape was non-negotiable; and second, I was not going to use the name Stefanie (or any derivative) ever again. It really was a drab name.

"Not here," I replied. That much was obvious. _Here _being an old derelict railway power station off the Hudson in Yonkers, New York. It was a perfect location to shoot me full of holes and dispose of the body afterwards. I knew I should have gone north from Massachusetts.

"Stefanie…" The hand released my chin in favor of idly tracing my jawline with a finger. "I am not a patient man."

I steeled myself.

"That's something you may want to rectify," I gently advised. It was not appreciated. For the briefest of moments I wondered just what had become of that infallible luck of mine. My thoughts were properly redirected as I was backhanded.

"I…_want_…my…money!"

Answering was not an option as I was struck a second time, a third, a fourth, fifth, sixth…seven. At seven the coppery taste of blood was present. At seven I was angry. At seven my luck presented itself. What was the purpose of an extravagantly huge, gaudy wrist watch? To tell time, no, it was there for an entirely different purpose. To snag a clump of disheveled hair, of course.

I gave an outcry as the Baron drew his hand back, presumably to continue the barrage, and my head followed. I barely registered the muttered curse in Russian before I was treated to a kick in the mid-section and the offensive clump of hair was torn from my head. I flew back into a steel beam that, oddly enough, had graffiti of a chalk outline upon it. I snorted at the irony.

"Get up!"

Glaring up at the Baron and his semi-circle of men, most of which had relaxed their holds on their weapons, I did just that. A handful of rocks clenched in my fist. Just on my feet, I found myself back in a familiar grip and front row to a peculiar new development. Shouts rang out as an arrow lodged itself in the head of the man behind Rasputin. My Russian was far too rudimentary to understand the cries that suddenly arose, but I did understand the next words to come out of the mob boss' mouth. The moment he turned back in my direction I spat a mouthful of blood into his face. Temporarily blinded, I was released from his grasp and I bolted.

Running straight toward a wall, I carelessly tossed the handful of rocks behind me. I was dominated by pain and adrenaline. So, it wasn't a surprise that I failed to notice as each stone hit a target, effectively keeping me just out of reach. Up a hill of rubble, I pushed myself harder to keep my momentum. In the next painful breath, my feet touched tagged cement and I climbed up the wall. Twisting, I jumped up toward the crossbeam. Fingers closed around rusted metal and I cried out while pulling myself up. My body was protesting profusely, but I _had _to keep going.

Next, I leapt to another beam barely keeping my balance. Sprinting across it, I sprang onto the next section of wall. I counted my steps: one, two, three, four, five…six—reaching—my hands clasped around the bottom rail of a catwalk. A sharp flare in my side caused me to lose my grip and I swung wildly sideways. A bullet hole appeared where I had been fractions of a second earlier. With new fervor, I righted myself and mounted the catwalk.

On hands and knees, I looked to the din below. It was pandemonium; most had taken cover and those who failed to no longer regretted the action. For the time being, the attention that had been placed on me was focused elsewhere. I was grateful for the chance respite. A blind bombardment of fire into the surrounding area brought reality back with a slap. Using the rail, I stood. An alarming feeling settled over me like prickles on the skin and I shot forward. That (the few times I had felt it), was always followed by a tumultuous turn of events. My hands fell upon the rail of the adjoining upper-walk when there was an explosion below.

I did not look back. I was harried by the need to get out. _Hurry, go, keep running, don't stop…_Every obstacle had to be overcome. In a haze I scaled, swung, flung, and abused my already injured self; trusting to instinct, luck to get me out. With euphoric relief, I landed upon a beam and spied my escape. It was dark and quiet- too quiet for the present goings on. I didn't trust it. There was something here that I couldn't see.

"Miss Rayes."

_Crap. _I clung to my handhold like a lifeline. I was too tired for this and my wary barometer just shot up ten-fold. I had not gone by the name Rayes for a very long time. Perched above me and shrouded in darkness was a man holding a bow. As he was not presently brandishing an arrow at me, I thought it safe to assume—for the moment—that he wasn't here to kill me.

"As much as I love having conversations with phantoms of the night, feet in the air, on narrow steel beams…" I paused, dizzy. "I think, I'm going to have to continue this where there is more surface area."

The aftereffects of adrenaline in conjunction with everything else were beginning to take their toll. I precariously walked across the beam and moved to a wonderful steel landing. I trusted he would follow and I was not wrong. I leaned against the railing, it keeping me standing, and studied my companion. From the waning light of the moon through a still intact window, I noted that he was tawny-haired, attractive, and most certainly dangerous. He purposely gave me space and this perked my curiosity.

"I think you are mistaking me for someone else," I began and was disregarded.

"I need you to come with me."

"Do you?" I responded immediately, shifting as my skin prickled. "Actually, I need to clean up and sleep this off; going with you really doesn't fit in with my plans."

That feeling was back and it was much worse than before. I moved away from the railing.

"Sleep it off, right."

I quirked an eyebrow at his comment before asking, "I don't suppose this is a take it or leave it sort of deal?"

"That would be correct," he affirmed.

My eyes drifted to the arrows strapped on his back and I frowned. The alternative was not promising. However, I was spared from responding as I had a bit of unfinished business to attend to. This was in the form of a large, bright spotlight focused on my position.

"Stefanie, there you are."

"Dammit," I muttered, "dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"You have some very persistent friends." Came from the bow and arrow brandishing peanut gallery.

"Mm…Spetsnaz," I explained before the spotlight spoke again.

"Stefanie, you surprise me. I am thinking we can settle this in more _pleasant _manner. Come down here and I'll let your friend live."

That feeling was oppressive now, and I highly doubted the validity of his offer.

"Baron, I'm afraid I'm rather selfish, and seeing as you lack a sufficient amount of funds, bribery is out of the question. Besides, he's rather cute. I think I'll go with him, so sorry to disappoint."

The Baron laughed. "Stefanie, there is no disappointment."

The spotlight shifted just enough to reveal the reason for this. It was a big, belt-fed, monster doomsday device resembling a machine gun but with a barrel the size of a postal tube. I had been stuck between a rock and a hard place before, but this time, I was trapped between Robin Hood and light artillery. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my companion's brow furrow and his lips pucker into the quintessential "ooh, I wasn't expecting this" face. Perfect. I didn't spare another second and this was good because the Baron didn't either.

My feet pounded over the landing followed closely by the thunk, thunk, thunk, of Rasputin's grenade launcher. Everything was exploding. With a new kick start, courtesy of my adrenal gland, I flung myself from my previous station. I landed belly first on a beam, aggravating my previous injury, and began slipping backwards. Futilely I tried to regain my grip but my weight worked against me. I fell. There was an eruption from above and I covered my face, bracing myself for the horrendous pain to come. I slammed into the waiting ground below, but not into rock. I would have laughed had the wind not been thoroughly knocked out of me. I had landed on a trio of old, blown-out mattresses.

This was short lived as I tried to right myself. My head swam and my body was not quite ready to be moved. The sickening mechanical sound of my demise seized my attention. I rolled off with pure determination, _happy _that I landed in a puddle. Now wet, I madly crawled away. The world really was not stable and all manner of debris danced through the air to shower down on me in the next instant. The next thunk was close, too close.

My cries died as they were replaced with a ringing in my ears, and a large uncomfortable weight was thrown over me. I was sandwiched between a rut in the floor and a giant spool. This saved me from having my lungs crushed, but effectively pinned me down. I struggled to push myself free but it was to no avail. The Baron's laughter at my predicament stopped my efforts. I watched with a disturbing fascination as the Baron fired one last time.

There was a huge bang that shook the surrounding area but it did not come from where I was so conveniently stuck. I stared and slowly the images filtering through my eyes began to make sense. There was a smoldering tangle of metal where the Baron had been. The spotlight was destroyed, and there were other bodies scattered about. Someone had been busy. Footfalls on rock took me from my observations and I looked up to see the man from before. He was a bit worse for the wear but not like me. It would do well to call to attention the fact that I had been the one followed by grenades, not him.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"I'm Agent Barton."

"Well, Agent Barton," I began, "I think I'm going to need some help, that is, if you still want me to go with you." I didn't bother saying that me in the company of others was dangerous, though I thought it. From his clothes, weapons, and own admission, I had deduced that he was military. This meaning that he had orders and, danger or not, I was going. Or he was a fanatical vigilante. Either way the outcome was basically the same.

"Right."

I grimaced as the spool shifted and I was pulled free. Released from my prison, I had a better vantage point over that spool, and the multiple objects that it was impaled with. How lucky: it had saved me from becoming a pincushion. Barton helped me into a sitting position and at our close proximity I saw that his eyes were a very pretty blue.

Averting my gaze, I asked, "Shall we?"

"You're just going to willingly come along now?"

"Are you complaining?" I countered. "As fun as another exhilarating chase would be, I'll take a rain check. Even if I was the luckiest girl in the world, my body won't take anymore."

"Can you walk?" There was an amused lilt in his voice.

"With help." I was immediately pulled to my feet and I wished that I wasn't. Pain flared from every limb and I held my breath, willing it to ease just a bit. Agent Barton did not press me to walk, but waited. My discomfort was obvious on my face. I opened my eyes as I released my breath, and looked at the mess before me.

"Okay." I took a step forward. I would have preferred to suffer in silence, but there was one last question nagging at me.

"Barton, did you…" I couldn't finish my sentence, so I inclined my head toward what had been the Baron.

"No, I believe that was a squib."

"…squib…?"

"A grenade was stuck in the barrel; he didn't notice and fired another."

I was lucky. I didn't say anything else and concentrated solely on putting one foot in front of the other. After an eternity, I found myself outside in the fresh night air and a waiting van. A door opened and a man, no, soldier stepped out. I was ushered inside and thankfully sank into my waiting seat. My eyes were heavy, and I was crashing. I doubted I would have lasted one more minute. There was a hand on my face.

"Ma'am, I need you to open your eyes," a foreign voice entreated me.

"Can't…" The word was slurred.

"Sir?"

"Don't…worry…its normal," I mumbled before I passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** I am so tired...bleh! It is cold and rainy today, so naturally I am lacking in all motivation. Fortunately I have kicked myself from my stupor and finally uploaded. I give you chapter 3 which gives you a little more information and undoubtedly more questions. Don't worry, all shall be answered in due time. ;) Originally, 3 and 4 were all one chapter, but it was ridiculously long. So enjoy and let me know how well you think SHIELD ranks in the department of hospitality. That is an oh so subtle hint to review...please? Happy reading! ^_^

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**3**

There was a sluggish haze that rested over me; very reminiscent of a wet blanket. As for my body, well, let's just say that I was having trouble believing that I hadn't been smashed flat and blown back up like a balloon. In short, I felt like hell. I rubbed a hand over my face or, more accurately, tried. The said appendage was not being obedient, but it was not due to a failure of bodily functions. I opened my eyes only to immediately shut them. _Whoever_ decided that it would be pleasant to wake up to stark brightness was an idiot. This was grievance number one.

After several seconds of opening and closing, my watering eyes finally adjusted to the abhorrent light. I quickly found the reason for my lack of movement: I was restrained to the bed. Grievance number two. I was obviously alone—for now—in some sort of medical facility. This was denoted by the IV protruding from my arm and the scratchy gown covering my form. I eyed the previous contraption with disgust and suspicion. Just what the necessity for that was I didn't know, but I had never needed one before. I could have woken up in a ditch and been just fine. In fact, I had.

I tested my binds and found with satisfaction that someone had been slacking on the job. After all, I was _only_ an unconscious woman and _not_ some talented psychopath hell-bent on world domination; such a lack of appreciation for the former. With a smile, I wriggled my left wrist out of the strap that wasn't quite tight enough. Free, I undid the other and sat up. My legs followed suit and I moved achy muscles that had been in one position too long. The next thing to go was grievance number three: the IV. I unhooked it, not bothering with the tube portion, and slid off the bed. They had shoved that nasty thing into my vein and _they _could take it out. It was only a matter of time before someone came to check up on me anyway.

I'd had the pleasure of being in a hospital sparingly in my life—something that I was more than happy about—but this was much more…barren and meticulous than I remembered. Wasn't it customary for there to be out-of-place homey touches to put me at ease in these institutes of terror…medicine? An unhappy indicator that I had stepped into something that was not very likely to let me go from its grasp. The Baron had been bad enough, but my gut feeling told me this was much worse.

Not that I had been offered a lot in the way of choices, but I was sure that _shoots-with-sticks_ could be very persuasive when necessary. Speaking of, I wondered if I would be seeing the dashing agent again. I found him likeable, despite his being a bit off. Of course the same could be said about me. Though really, who uses a bow and arrow in this age of advanced weaponry? Granted, his was fancy, but still such a choice was reserved for hardcore hunters and medieval nutcases. It would be better if I didn't, I decided. Any such affinity never panned out and I had been successful at avoiding such for the last twenty years or so. It wouldn't do well to break stride now.

There were two doors in my room. The furthest I assumed was the way out, and so the other could only lead to the bathroom; that depending entirely upon my surroundings being based in some sort of normalcy. There had been times, to spite me, that my luck had been that of the contrary, and I half expected to find a closet as I opened this door. Luckily, this was not one of those times and instead I found myself stumbling into a bathroom.

I grimaced at the face in the mirror and happily basked in the hot water that I carelessly splashed over my face. It felt so good and I instantly longed for a hot shower. It was a luxury not to be had. My clothes were nowhere to be found (grievance number four), not to mention the fact that I was probably not supposed to be up and about. This thought instilled a sense of foreboding and I washed that much faster.

I had managed a thorough scrub down, which included a vigorous brushing of my teeth with soap and finger, when I noticed I was not alone. I should have felt alarmed at the sudden appearance of a man in the doorway, but I wasn't. The smooth, hot, and potent had yet to pleasantly cascade down my throat, bringing with it the coherent and reasonable. Morning coffee was essential in the abatement of the beast within. Mine had been left to stew and rage for far too long. I glared in the mirror at the man in scrubs. His expression quickly changed from disbelief to disapproval. I did not fail to notice the syringe clutched in his right hand. Turning suddenly, I thrust out the arm sporting the IV for his observance.

"This," I made my irritation apparent with that one word, "does not belong here."

He merely stared at me, no doubt weighing which course of action to take. Fortunately for him, I had made that decision already.

"I don't do these. So, I want this out. Capeesh?" I knew I was being curt, but frankly, I didn't care. So far, what I had awoken to had not inspired anything of the opposite nature.

For good measure I added, "I promise I'll go back to bed like a _good_ patient once this is gone."

That seemed to do the trick because he nodded to me and began to walk forward. It was strange, though. Weren't nurses (he was missing the telltale stethoscope and white coat that _said_ doctor) supposed to make you feel comfortable? They did things like fluff pillows, fetch food and drink, and more importantly _talk_ to their patients. Also, that syringe was still in hand. Just what exactly was that for anyway? I had three thoughts in rapid succession. First, as far as anyone was concerned I was still unconscious. Second, this just might be an unsanctioned visit (he was being awfully quiet). Third, seeing as I was still supposed to be in a comatose state, that needle and its contents were definitely meant for me. Whatever was going on was not for the general know how. _Great_.

I jumped to the side just as he lunged for me. His fingers grazed my arm but found no hold. I ran for the door. He, however, was much quicker on the uptake. He successfully snagged one of the ties to my hospital gown, forcefully yanking me backward. My bare feet slipped in the water that was a result of my earlier cleansing. My momentum then flung me sideways and took my attacker down with me. I slammed hard into the tiled floor. The syringe was knocked from his hand and slid in front of me—my salvation.

I dove for it. It was just in my grasp when I was again yanked backward, by foot, and flipped over. Now being straddled, I did the only thing I could think of and I hurled myself forward aiming my head for his face. He wasn't expecting this; moving down to free me of my newest possession, he collided perfectly with me. I felt a crack, saw a flash of white, and was freed from the weight that had held me down. With my vision again clear I crawled forward and took advantage of his stunned state. I stabbed and emptied the contents of the syringe into his neck. At the puncture he tried to stop me, but it was too late. After a few seconds he obediently went limp and I slumped to the ground.

My head hurt, my side hurt, and I was sure that I had blood on me. Was it really too much to ask to have just a few normal occurrences every once in a while? Apparently it was. No one had rushed into the room, so it seemed that my scuffle had gone unheard. _Will wonders never cease?_ Sitting back up I got to work. My current location was not a safe one and so I aimed to change that. Stripping the nurse, who I had learned from his key card was Jeremiah Freeman, of his scrubs, I swapped my gown for them. It was less conspicuous. The blood on the shirt couldn't be helped and maybe it would go unnoticed. Not likely, but I could hope.

I clipped the card backwards on my shirt pocket, successfully hiding the picture ID, rolled my pant legs up (they had to be too long), and washed the blood off my face. That was as good as it was going to get. I had no shoes. Jeremiah's feet were giant, and so again I had to hope that no one would notice my bare feet. The odds were not stacked in my favor. The last two things I did were rip the IV out of my arm—I thought quicker would be better, it wasn't—and I pulled Mr. Freeman into an upright position. An undeserved kindness, but I was not about to leave him to choke to death on his own blood and have that over my head as well.

A moment later I stood before the other door, my exit, and took a deep breath. There was no noise beyond that I could hear, so very carefully and quietly I opened it a fraction. There was no one directly in front of the door and not a sound. Taking a chance, I opened it fully and peeked out. There was not a person to be found. I didn't waste any time and shot out into the hall, going right, not bothering to shut the door behind me. Mr. Freeman was going to need some medical attention and it was better that he received it sooner rather than later. On a hunch, I had kept the syringe intended for me. It was carefully wrapped and stuffed in my pants pocket. I had thought it best to keep what little proof I had in support of my being attacked. Just in case things didn't turn out how I wanted. So far everything was going nicely, but I knew just how fast events could turn.

Rounding a corner, I stopped short when I spotted a desk. I was about to turn back when I realized that it was currently unoccupied. That was strange. Negligence was a far cry from Agent Barton. Granted, our acquaintance was brief, but we had been in a highly volatile environment. A lot could be learned about a person in moments like those. So I highly doubted that someone with such discipline and training would work for an organization that wasn't the same. The logical conclusion: I must have gotten up during the graveyard shift. It figures that my morning would actually be in the middle of the damn night. Well that was to my benefit, I supposed. Pressing on, I paused when I was adjacent to the desk. There, sitting quite forgotten, was a sweater.

"Don't mind if I do," I uttered to myself and snatched the piece of clothing.

That would go a long way in making my soiled attire not so obvious. I was beginning to feel quite good about my situation and it showed. A building confidence began to radiate in my posture, in the swagger of my walk; or maybe my swagger had absolutely nothing to do with this newest assurance. Maybe it was more about the pain in my hip. It smarted and burned like I had been pressed, most cruelly, by an iron and then unceremoniously dragged over pavement for a quarter of a mile. It was always the little things that made such a lasting impression. Whatever the reason and more to the point, I was beginning to feel that I might just make it out of here. That was, of course, entirely dependent upon whether the key card I had procured had clearance to swipe me through the door just ahead.

Glancing behind me to make sure I was still in the clear, I pulled the card from my pocket. I really had no idea where I was going, but I trusted that eventually I would come across an exit. My choice of routes thus far had all been based on instinct, an inkling that this way would be better than the other. I never planned anything beyond a basic outline of what I wanted to achieve. I had learned, a long time ago, that planning just didn't work for me _at all_. I doubted there was anyone else walking around on the Earth that went with the flow like I did, not that I had had much choice in the matter. That seemed to be a running theme in this life of mine—my lack of choices.

I stared at the door a moment, hoping that this wouldn't end with an alarm being triggered or a sudden meeting with security on the other side. _Here goes nothing._ I tensed and swiped the card. After a second there was a beep, a click, and the door began to open towards me. I would have smiled, but at that moment two armed men stepped into the hall behind me. No doubt the pesky security I'd wished to avoid. _Why do automatic doors have to be so slow?!_ I tried to seem nurse-like, tried not to nervously glance back at them, but my acting skills were severely inadequate. They made their way toward me like a moth to a flame. One had a hand resting on his holstered weapon, and the other was talking into a radio. _Fantastic._ The doors were not quite wide enough to let me through comfortably and they were closing in. I would have to force my way past.

"Ma'am, you need to come back with us," one of them warned.

I didn't really look to see who. Someone was trying to salvage the situation, hence the lack of alarm and backup. I had been in a similar state of affairs back in the day. In Queens, if I remembered correctly. Some underling had lost me and he was desperately trying to save his worthless hide. It hadn't gone well for him, seeing as I had escaped with a significant amount of his boss's money. Same story, different era.

I did not hesitate; I shoved my way through the opening doors. Another painful experience, but the shouts from behind drove me forward. After a mere second I was free and running. From the commotion at my rear, I knew they were in hot pursuit; but I had a significant head start. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was how to run.

My feet thudded down the hall and I began to come across, low and behold, people. This section seemed to have staff on duty. There was some preliminary confusion at my sprinting form, but this was quickly rectified by the cries of "stop her". Several people sprang into action and I narrowly dodged them, adding to those already on the hunt. I jumped over a janitor's cart, hitched a short ride on a bed, and tripped into a roll. Someone had actually shot at me and this last maneuver had kept me from becoming a fatality.

Ahead was a large intersection with more guards. A trap if I'd ever seen one. I had thus far avoided close quarters contact and I was not inclined to start now. Especially against any sort of military personnel; mobsters and crack-heads were one thing, this was altogether different. A large ninety degree desk took up one of the corners. Most likely a nurse hub, judging by the computers, various files, clipboards, etcetera. Well, what was once a station for work was now my personal thoroughfare. This was going to be close. I sped up and focused on my breathing. My pulse thudded loudly in my ears, my battered left leg protested the exertion, but it didn't matter. There was only the obstacle in my sights. Various shouts and warnings fell on deaf ears. I was almost there and was completely unprepared for the abrupt appearance of a body in front of me. On instinct my hands shot outward and shoved the barrier out of my way. The poor woman who had happened out into the mayhem was alarmingly propelled into the waiting arms of security.

I vaulted up and landed perfectly upon the desktop. Not missing a step, I flew over it, spilling various items to the floor. At the end I dove off, tucked myself into a roll, and summersaulted to my feet. Just a fraction after I landed there were multiple thuds in the wall to my left. I didn't look to see what they were shooting at me now. At least the order to kill had been rescinded. As I veered left into yet _another_ hallway, I was greeted by the charming monotony of an alarm. It was so nice to be wanted. On the bright side, straight ahead was a most beautiful sight. A door with a placard beside it that read: Stairs.

Oh, the glee I felt when I shoved that door open. I paused momentarily in the stairwell to gasp in some air. I had temporarily shaken my admirers, but that wouldn't be for long. The whole place was on alert for me now. I briefly considered going up, but that was shattered by a sudden commotion from above. Nope, I was going down and fast. Bypassing the steps entirely, I jumped upon the rail and positioned myself on the outside. I slid down, my hands gliding over the spokes until I was hanging from the bottom rung. In unison, I flung my legs forward, then back and swung myself to the landing below.

Immediately rising out of a crouch, I made a move forward and was abruptly assaulted by a wave of dizziness. It was so unexpected that I fell hard on my knees. The pain gave me an edge of clarity and I forced myself back up. It took a considerable amount of effort to get to this level's door. My body seemed to be shutting down and yet in the same instance fighting to stay conscious. My injuries were minor, I should not be passing out now—I couldn't! Shaking my head to try and clear it, I made ready to push open the door. It was an unnecessary action. It opened of its own accord and I stumbled unprepared out into a waiting sea of black.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN**: I realize that this is...stupid late. ^^; Life is stupid sometimes and I was prevented from updating like I wanted. So here it is, better late than never, right? By the way, I still plan on updating this coming Monday. :D

I don't own anything and this includes Aspirin. Also, please note that all names in this chapter were contrived randomly and if I somehow managed to guess your name, it was pure luck. Enjoy 3

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**4**

Stark, sterile, and at the risk of sounding redundant, completely unambiguous. There had to be some sort of unspoken rule; a handbook maybe for secret organizations and it somehow had been leaked out to Hollywood, because really, their portrayal was spot on. A moderately sized metal table, with two matching chairs, placed in the middle of a room that could almost be described as small, one door in or out and those god-awful florescent lights beaming down on me. Under their scrutiny the pallor of my skin was a most unattractive color. It was like I was in a damn movie! At least they had the decency to give me a cup of coffee. The little things, remember that was what I lived for.

Oh! It should also be noted that I was allowed to walk of my own fruition into this room _and_ they were kind enough not to shackle me like a miscreant. Of course, I really should reflect upon just how it was that I arrived from my previous station. I took a gulp of smooth blackness hoping that it would alleviate the sudden bitter taste in my mouth. It was marginally successful. Despite what I felt, it had been the doctor that had…saved me. That admission would never be audibly reiterated and I did not, by any stretch of the imagination, feel grateful. I hated doctors—period—and there was good reason for such animosity. Chiefly, the strange transformation that overtook them when they were made aware of just what it was that was within their grasp. I was that miracle of science that they had been searching for all their blessed lives. I would bolster their careers into notoriety and set them up for eternity. I was absolutely the most fascinating lab rat to be in existence.

Okay, so that might be a smidge egotistical, but it really wasn't _that far_ from actuality. There had been one doctor, once upon a time, with whom I had thought…well, it really didn't matter now. How had he described me? I'd been likened to someone with a high metabolism. My body was so efficient that aging and healing did not occur normally. I had scoffed at this. I did not buy into his prescribed voodoo or the genetic conundrum supposedly floating around inside me, and he had not believed in luck. Suffice it to say, he had enlightened me to the true nature of doctors and I would be damned if I trusted one again.

So, I had been in quite the predicament. Completely surrounded and now that I think of it, it really was remarkable how many bodies they had crammed into such a limited space. All of it had been for little old me. I would have to tell them how flattered I was. Seriously, it wasn't every day that a girl received such attention. However, this was all an afterthought. At the time I had been beyond the notice of such things and was on the losing end in the fight to stay conscious. That was until my fading vision had caught sight of white material and the words "take care of her" had resonated with me. That had been all the resurgence that I needed. I was able to push past whatever it was that ailed me. It had still been there, but I'd gained the upper hand.

I was regarded incredulously by who I later learned was Dr. Strauss. This lasted only a moment due to my adamant announcement that I wasn't going anywhere with pompous, self-proclaimed omniscient medical staff whose idea of care came from the dark ages. I had then immediately focused upon a no-nonsense, extremely well-groomed black suit at the forefront of the group. From the deference of those around him, I presumed that he was in charge and I had not been wrong. I had readily agreed to go with him and only him, otherwise I would be on my merry way. There had been a very pregnant pause after my ultimatum. Thankfully, the agent had agreed to my terms and away I went. He had led me to this room and here I sat waiting.

I shifted in my seat (metal chairs were only so comfortable) and sipped at my coffee. I had been left to my own devices for a while now and it made me feel ill at ease. That could be the point. It made absolutely no sense to me but people did all sorts of things in the name of psychology. Perhaps this was somehow supposed to inspire cooperation. I might have smirked at such a thought had not the door opened at that precise moment. Any amusement ceased at the intrusion of the tall, raven-haired, figurine-like Dr. Strauss. Was it really possible to be human and have such sharp features? She reminded me of those freaky doll statues. It was unnerving and wrong. I sat stiffly as she clicked her way toward the table, a death-grip on my cup, and silent as the grave. All I needed was a flashing neon sign that read: Not Welcome.

"Ms. Rayes, we haven't officially met. I'm Dr. Vivian Strauss." She held her hand out to me. I merely stared at the offending appendage and took another gulp of coffee. After an awkward pause she let her hand fall back to her side.

"May I?"

I stared up at her, eyebrows raised with the expression of "are you retarded" clear upon my face.

"No."

In reality, anyone could sit across from me. This was after all their turf, but if they were going to ask, then I was going to be sure to let my preferences be known. Dr. Strauss, however, was not expecting my adamant refusal. Funny, I thought that my disdain for the medical profession had been adequately communicated.

She tried again, "Ms. Rayes, please. I need to speak with you about Mr. Freeman."

A sip later and I responded with another one-word answer. "Who?"

Dr. Strauss yanked the chair opposite me back and sat without ceremony. Much to my displeasure, she crossed her legs and clasped her hands upon the table. Clearly, she was not going to be so easily rebuffed. I was beginning to miss the association of simpleminded scumbags. Granted, there were always the exceptions, the Baron for instance, but those were few and much more preferable to doctors.

Dr. Strauss continued as if there had never been a pause. "Mr. Freeman, the man you accosted."

So this was how it was going to be played.

"Oh right, Mr. Freeman. I accost so many people it's hard to keep track." I maintained the pattern of glare and sip.

"What did you do to him?"

"Me?" With great effort, I managed not to choke. "Aside from a possible broken nose, I have no idea. Isn't that _your_ area of expertise?"

"Really, Ms. Rayes, playing dumb is not going to help you."

"Sorry. I just can't help myself, especially in the presence of the self-absorbed."

A bit of color rose in the good doctor's cheeks and I didn't feel the least bit guilty. This woman, sans her profession, had rubbed me wrong from the very first and that combined with her career choice automatically condemned her. What was more; she didn't care one iota about Mr. Freeman, there was more feeling on the face of a dead person on Sunday. I went to take a sip of coffee, only to find it empty and frowned.

"I would be careful, Ms. Rayes."

I immediately looked back at the woman. She had appealed to my humanity, dangled my supposed crime, tried the be-sensible good cop routine, and now had resorted to threatening. I forcibly put the cup on the table.

"Oh?" Placing my hands on the table as well, I stood. "What're you gonna do?"

Dr. Strauss moved back and slipped her hand into her coat pocket.

"Mr. Freeman wasn't successful, but the odds are stacked more in your favor. Do you want to give it a go? Try _your_ luck?" I challenged.

The room was thick with tension and the silence lengthened as we regarded each other. Slowly she smiled, as if to say tempting, or (and I thought this more likely) I know something that you don't. The urge to dive over that table throwing haymakers was almost too much to resist. Or it could be that the moment I was about to give into such a base desire the door opened.

"That won't be necessary," a familiar voice interrupted the standoff.

To say I wasn't disappointed would be a lie, but I did glean a certain bit of satisfaction as the smug smile was replaced with a look of alarm.

"Dr. Strauss, you're needed in radiology."

Vivian Strauss quickly stood. Smoothing her skirt and straightening her coat, she offered a pleasantly fake smile.

"Thank you, Agent Barton."

No further attention was directed toward me, in fact from the abrupt change in her manner, I'd gone from being of some import to seemingly nonexistent. She acted as though she had just been caught in a stack of paperwork. This was the sort of individual that I would apply the word insufferable to, definitely. I watched with a mixture of frustration and relief as she purposefully strode from the room. Leaving me in the company of the agent with whom I had decided that avoidance was the best course of action. _So much for that._

"You slept it off."

"Yeah, how about that." I slumped back into your chair. "Though you're obviously not alone in your doubt about sleep and its working wonders."

Absently, I rubbed at my hip. It had stiffened up faster than I'd thought it would and was very unappreciative of my sudden movement. What I wouldn't give for some Aspirin and another cup of coffee.

"Well, count me a believer." Barton leaned against the wall, seemingly relaxed and gave me his undivided attention. Not that there was much else to do and well, even I had to admit that I was some sort of a curiosity.

"So…seeing as they sent you to babysit me, I take it that I'm in trouble," I stated, resting my head in my palm.

"You do seem to have a problem behaving yourself," he countered.

"Sorry, next time I'll be sure to appraise the behavioral standards for prisoners and note that defending oneself, is not one of them." Idly, I fiddled with the empty cup.

"Is that what happened?"

This question induced a stare from me.

"Wasn't it obvious by the state of the bathroom or how about me favoring my left leg? Because really, I'm all about punching people's faces in."

"You weren't too inhibited earlier." Barton crossed his arms over his chest.

I wasn't sure how serious he was, but I thought I caught a hint of amusement, so I decided to not be offended. I did, nonetheless, make a noise of indignation.

"By inhibited, are you referring to my leg or to me punching people's faces? If it's the last, you really can't punch anything when your arms are pinned. You can however, head butt. If it's the first, then let's conduct an experiment. You give me your gun, I'll shoot at you, and we'll see how well you move."

This got me a smile.

"I think I'll pass," the agent declined.

"Pity." I gave a lazy smile in return.

Quiet settled over the two of us and I took the opportunity to study a glare in the tabletop. It was moments like these that opened the way for serious thought to creep back in and I couldn't help but wonder, again, just what was in store for me. The worry that I had put on hold for later consideration had resurfaced, now that previous agitations were no longer an issue.

What was going to happen to me?

They didn't want me dead, at least not right now. If they had I wouldn't have left Yonkers, that is to say, if they could get the job done. I was somewhat difficult to pin down and kill. It could happen, in fact it almost had—once—if it hadn't been for the interference of a doctor that I wished to God I'd never met. That only left one other plausible (in my mind) scenario and it was not a happy one. There was no doubt from the hungry eyes of Dr. Vivian Strauss that she wanted nothing more than to cut me open and spill out all my secrets. Just how much did these people know about me?

The room suddenly felt a lot colder.

"Barton…" I paused. Mainly because my voice sounded pathetic to my own ears and just what was I to say exactly? _Hey, I was just wondering if gross experimentation was on the docket. _No. More to the point why would he honestly answer any of my questions. He worked for them, whoever _they _were. _This_ was the problem with likability. It would be so much easier if I could just hate everybody. Friends were collateral damage, hence the lack of them. Agent Barton was not on my side. Whatever my first impressions, I could not trust him. It was the one rule to live by: Don't Trust Anyone.

"Is it possible for a girl to get another cup of coffee?" I finished lamely. It was obvious from my weak delivery that this was not the original question in mind.

After a pause, he answered, "It's possible."

"But," I began, "you have orders to stay put."

I blew out a lengthy breath through my nose. "I guess it doesn't matter how high you climb in the hierarchy of captors…good prisoner perks just do not exist."

"And you would classify yourself a 'good' prisoner."

Okay, that _was_ a tad offensive. I turned in my seat so that I could fully face a one Agent Barton.

"Well, let's take a tally, _archer_ boy," and I began counting things off my fingers. "I willingly came with you. Woke up and found myself restrained to my bed, but gave the 'collective you' the benefit of the doubt. Waited against my better judgment and paid for it. Made sure that a certain Jeremiah Freeman would be found. I surrendered. Then, I tolerated her _majesty_ and didn't deck her, I might add. Though I'm positive I'm going to regret that later. _Oh_, and I have answered all of your questions honestly."

I crossed my arms.

"Yup, I'm pretty sure that's good enough." Adding a moment later, "For coffee."

"That's an optimistic appraisal," Barton said, not missing a beat.

I was just about to have another incredulous outburst, when it was halted by a suspicion.

"You're baiting me."

He smiled. "Why would I do that?"

Why, indeed.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're part of the trifecta of interrogation."

"The trifecta of interrogation," he repeated.

"Yes. First, you send in the ever charismatic Dr. I want to dissect your soul, who applies the poke with stick technique. After she's gotten the subject good and mad, well then, you have to charm them back into a cooperative mood. Who better to do that than the dashing Monsieur Hood? None can resist his generous nature, not to mention be in awe of his legendary skill with pointy projectiles. With him, the subject is brought back to a docile state. Then you're ready for the big gun."

"Which is?" inquired Barton.

"Well, I'm sure I'm about to find out, but if I had to guess…" Here, I smiled. "I would say it was Mr. Impeccable himself, the black suit of suits, the one and the only, secret agent man. We met earlier."

Now, the next occurrence could be chalked up to a couple different things: coincidence, perfect timing, Agent Barton sending a covert SOS, or simply that I was the all-important bug under the magnifying glass. There was no doubt in my mind that this room was the conspiracy theorists surveillance nirvana. So it wasn't a shock as the door opened, for a third time, after my last comment. Nor the fact, that the very person with whom I had been describing came waltzing in, and with coffee.

I was a little smug as I pointedly looked at Barton and uttered one word, "Impeccable."

I was answered with a partial chuckle. A look was shared between the two as Barton moved from his post.

"She's all yours," he retorted, giving me one last wry look before taking his leave.

There was silence after the door closed and the feeling that I was now facing the real deal struck me. If there was any convincing that needed to happen, this was the man who needed to be convinced—beyond a shadow of a doubt. There was weight in the gaze that I was under and even I wasn't impervious to it. Granted, all of my run-ins with the hardened heavies of society helped, but it didn't make me immune. The silence lasted so long that the absurd thought that there was something wrong in my appearance nagged at me. If I was comparing, then yes, there was something definitely wrong. In reality there wasn't anything awry if I considered my circumstance, it was actually perfectly normal. If such a word was even applicable to me.

I broke the spell by rubbing a hand over my face in an effort to disrupt such nonsensical thoughts. It was only marginally successful, so why keep it all to myself.

"So I think it's only fair to warn you…that if _that_ is for me," I started indicating the coffee, "you are definitely my favorite."

"This?" He held the cup up as if he were pondering the idea and fluidly sat in the chair opposite me. "What exactly will this get me?"

"What do you want for it?" I responded.

He placed the object of my desire upon the table.

"Your unadulterated cooperation and commitment to refrain from behavior that would lead to more stringent measures."

I sat back and regarded him skeptically. "You want my word?"

"A mere courtesy. We are more than equipped to deal with you should you decide otherwise."

The practiced tight smile in conjunction with the sternness in his eyes, more than testified the truth of this. I stared a moment, my lips scrunched together before slowly spreading into a smile.

"Tempting," I began ambiguously. Briefly, I considered upping the ante and adding Aspirin into the bargain, but then thought better of the idea. Previous treatment, all the unknowns, and well, the drug that Freeman had tried to force into me changed my mind. The image of me blindly trusting that the pills given to me were indeed Aspirin and then falling, out cold after such consumption, while Dr. Strauss sat in a corner cackling manically at her victory, made me find suffering—_very—_appealing.

"Fair enough. I promise to be the soul of good behavior and all things related, so long as," I paused, sourly pulling the syringe from my pocket, "no one tries to stick me with one of these."

With not a change in expression, he simply looked at me and intoned, "If you'd like, you can file a grievance with Human Evaluation Logistics and Personnel."

I stared. Was that some sort of bloated version of Human Resources?

"I'll pass, paperwork really isn't my thing." More like leaving a carbon trail of my existence wasn't my thing, if I was being honest. Moreover, I found _his_ lack of interest in the whole matter rather curious. Food for thought.

"Trade you?" I entreated with a smile, holding out my contribution in a non-aggressive manner. He pushed the coffee to my side of the table and likewise I placed the syringe gently on his.

"Why thank you, Agent….?" I held out a hand as I ingested some of my prize.

"Agent Coulson with S.H.I.E.L.D," he supplied.

I sighed heavily. Why couldn't I have pulled the fanatical vigilante card?

"I see you've heard of us. That simplifies things," Coulson stated.

Of course I had heard of them. You don't scrape by in the underbelly of the world and not hear about _them_. It was one of the rules: Don't Attract S.H.I.E.L.D. Nothing was worth getting caught by them, or so I'd been told, repeatedly. Obviously, I'd gotten sloppy, but that still did not explain what they wanted with me. I was hardly high profile.

"I think there's been some sort of mistake," I tried.

"Are you not Miriam Rayes?" Coulson questioned.

"No, that's not my name." I had to love anonymity.

Deftly, Agent Coulson reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out some sort of high tech tablet. It was clear and I could see that he was scrolling through a wall of text, however I was unable to read a lick of it. As it was being held at just the right angle so that the glare from the overhead lights made it impossible. Cute.

He gave me a pointed look.

"How about: Jillian White, Erin Covington, Samantha Dawes, Meredith O'Toole, Faith McDevitt, Emily Brandon, Victoria Smith, Melissa Davenport, Sheryl Anderson, Carry Ross, Olivia Powell, Elizabeth Foster, or Annie Cook?"

Coulson looked up from the list he had been reading . "No?"

There was more and he was going to read through every single name, if necessary. That would be a long list, since I never used a name twice (to the best of my ability) and everyone I came in contact with knew me as something different. Apprehension settled in my gullet, and I worried over just how far back their homework went.

"Or perhaps you would prefer something more recent; Emile Dickerson, Kirsten Moore, Ruth Howard, Morgan Gray, maybe Stefanie Bell?" Agent Coulson looked nonchalantly back at the tablet in hand.

"We have them all categorized by year," he stated.

That single sentence rocked my world like nothing had in a good long while.

I set the cup down, afraid I might drop it, and asked, "What's the earliest?"

Frankly, he replied, "Miriam Rayes, 1945."

My relief was palpable. "Well then," I retrieved my cup. "I guess that's my name."

The polite smile I was given clearly communicated that he expected nothing less, and he put the tablet away.

"I hardly think you brought me in to slap my hand for gross amount of aliases, so what does S.H.I.E.L.D want?" Might as well get straight to business, and that seemed to be Agent Coulson's preferred method.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Of course he wasn't. "Let me guess, very shortly I'm going to meet someone who does have that liberty?"

"That would be correct," Coulson confirmed.

There was always another boss.

"Can I have a shower then? And maybe, some clothes that aren't made for some giant with…" Here I squeezed my nose for effect. "Hygienic issues," I finished.


End file.
